“We should wait,” I whisper.
“There’s only one of them now. We’ll never get a better chance,” Farah says.
“She’s right,” Chiu agrees.
I’m sure Ose is listening to us. The way he pulls a book from the shelf is too casual. But I don’t suppose there’s any use pointing that out to Farah. I think about her truculent departures from French lessons and hope she doesn’t try that here. I lean closer, speaking as quietly as possible in the hope that Ose can’t hear.
“You don’t understand,” I whisper. “Tonight. That’s our best chance.”
The sky has turned to the hopeless grey of an electricity pylon when Jonah and the others return in high spirits. Jonah’s movements are sharp, filled with unexpended energy. “A good day,” he announces. “A very good day indeed.”
“What makes it a good day?” Farah asks.
“Those that end up here sometimes need our help,” Jonah says. “I perform a public service. I find them, I help them.”
“Help them how?” Farah says.
Jonah gives an off-hand shrug. “It depends.”
“Did you find anyone?” I ask.
“Tongue,” Tongue says, his voice edged with an inscrutable bitterness.
Jonah lifts his hands as if to show us they’re empty. “Does it look like we found anyone?” He goes behind the bar again and takes down a fresh bottle of Scotch and fills his glass. He takes a swig, gags and spits on to the floor behind the bar.
“We need to be getting on,” Farah says. “There’s somewhere we got to be.”
“Oh?” Jonah feigns innocent interest. “The machine?”
“My family.”
“Of course.” Jonah nods, as if the memory is coming back to him. “Well you don’t want to be out walking at night,” he says. “This world might feel quiet, but … it’s worse at night.” He glances at the others. “You should come back with us. We know a safe place.”
“We’re fine,” Farah says. “We’re safe here.”
I brace myself for a confrontation. Violence watches us. I’m scared Farah is going to do something rash. We’re playing a game, I think. But we all know the pretence could slip at any moment.
Jonah smiles wolfishly. “Come on. I want to show you something cool.”
Farah starts to shake her head, but I interrupt.
“Sure,” I say.
“Smart lad,” Jonah replies.
We follow him and the others back out through reception to the front of the hotel. Four motorbikes are parked on the gravel, gleaming and slick looking. They look out of place, like their colours and lines are sharper and more real than everything else around them. The evening sky has leached the colour from the building and the gardens but the sleek red and blue bikes still shine like its midday.
“Do they work?” I ask, baffled by the unexpected sight.
“Work?” Jonah laughs. “They go like the bloody clappers!”
“How?” I say.
“Tongue!” Tongue says. He jabs his chest enthusiastically. “Tongue!”
Ose puts a hand on his shoulder. “What he’s trying to tell you is ideas and things are closer to each other in this world. Technical things only work if you have the knowledge to make them work.”
Tongue nods vigorously. “Tongue!”
“And Tongue is the best mechanic I ever met.” Jonah grins.
Jonah’s voice is admiring but there’s a mocking edge to it as well. Tongue drops to one knee and places his head close to the engine of the first bike. He might be checking spark plugs or oil, but he looks more as if he’s coaxing a nervous horse into a race. He mutters under his breath, “Tongue … tongue.” A sound that seems full of longing, like a child whispering secrets to a soft toy. I catch a glimpse of the engine beneath his fingers: components shifting and easing into place. The unruly mess I saw under the bonnet was a reflection of my own ignorance and, here, Tongue’s knowledge bends and warms the ideas into place. No wonder the electricity doesn’t work. No wonder our phones don’t.
Tongue silently moves on to the next bike, while Jonah swings himself on to the first and the engine gives a guttural purr and rumbles into life.
“Kyle, you’re with me,” Jonah says. “Farah better go with Ose. Chiu with Levi.”
One last look from Farah. I can imagine her sprinting across the gravel. She’d be fast, but I can see Jonah striding after her; one or two lurching strides and he takes her down—
I move quickly, before she has a chance to react, and climb on to the back of Jonah’s bike. Farah’s body tenses like she isn’t sure what to do, but when Ose climbs on to his own bike she climbs on behind him.
TWENTY
Dark and rushing, like falling. The thrill of riding with Jonah is oddly familiar. Reminiscent of my seizures.
We move so fast, so close to utter annihilation, I can’t help the swell of excitement that rises up in my chest. I watch the road dash beneath us and I wonder what it would be like to touch it. It seems blurred, almost insubstantial, like I might reach out and carve a wake around my fingers like it was water. But then Jonah leans the bike steeply into a corner and his knee comes within an inch of the ground and the unyielding concrete reasserts itself. I imagine the tyres losing their grip, plunging down and being torn apart by the speed.
